Evaluation
by naaanaaa
Summary: It's the brown curls he could never mistake, and Rick instantly knows it's Morty. From where, what dimension, he doesn't know. He just knows he needs to get him inside fast as the pool of blood stretches further. (Or- Doofus Rick and Evil Morty meet)


Helloooooo, this will probably be very short. Not too sure.

Please enjoy

 _((Note: This is set around the time period that Rick C-137 is in jail))_

* * *

Rick J19-ζ7 sits at his couch with a book. A fantasy novel, one with floating islands, a dragon, and a quest. He's probably the only reader to ever compare this 'far off and amazing land' to a place he's actually been before, and he is enjoying both the cliché but brave main character as well as the nostalgia.

He's alone. The night is dark. He has only one friend a dimension away. So he's rather surprised at the loud knock at his front door.

He lowers his novel in confusion. He takes a glace to his digital wall clock as he puts it on the coffee table.

1:00am.

He doesn't hear another knock. It might have been the wind, an animal even. Then he gets up, the thought of a wounded owl at his door pushing him more to investigate than disconcerning him.

He turns the nob and opens the thick oak door that leads to his concrete stairs and then the darkness beyond that. What he sees has him frozen, shocked, the burst of frigid air doing nothing to aid him.

Not an owl. But wounded, most certainly. The light from the house illuminates the blood on his stairs. A teenager, collapsed on his stomach, and a hand reaching for his door. And now him.

It's the brown curls he could never mistake, and Rick instantly knows it's Morty. From where, what dimension, he doesn't know. He just knows he needs to get him inside fast as the pool of blood stretches further.

Rick takes care turning Morty over slowly with supporting hands, and he finds he's unconscious. That's good, Rick thinks. He's not feeling the pain of whatever nasty gash is on his torso.

He lifts Morty bridle-style and enters back inside the warm home, kicking the door closed behind them as an afterthought. Rick's mind is racing with worry, with questions, but even faster are his ideas as to what he needs to do to save this poor Morty's life.

His dining table is the closest and the largest, so the teen's body is placed steadily upon its surface. Rick pulls scissors from his full lab coat and proceeds to cut through Morty's black, blood soaked shirt. The gash makes Rick cringe, and his heart break. A knife wound. Someone had _stabbed_ Morty.

 _Who would do this?_

Luckily, the wound isn't in a serious place. It misses all the vital organs. Perhaps the vile person who did this didn't really know what they were doing.

The kitchen is close, and in no time Rick is cleaning the wound with water and antiseptic as quickly and efficiently as possible.

He finds the wound isn't too deep either. It would still need stiches, however. Rick's brow sweats as he heats the needle and metal thread, again from his coat. Morty will live, surly, but he hopes he doesn't awake from the pain.

The stitching is slow and precise. Rick spares a few glances to Morty's face, and he's relived the teen is still sleeping.

He raps Morty's torso with a roll of bandages (he had to go down to the lab to get, unfortunately). Rick finally finishes and secures the end.

Morty's face is so relaxed, it's strange. Strange to think such a face had just been through a stabbing in a foreign demotion, for god knows what reason. Had possibly dragged himself to the first door he could find.

Maybe the stabbing happened close. Rick will have to look at his surveillance.

But first, the teen now under his care.

He picks Morty up again and only wobbles for a heart fleeting second as he ascends the stairs.

The room he enters is colder than the rest of his house, because the door is no longer opened. He hopes the quilt will be enough to keep Morty warm through the rest of the morning, or for however long he needs. As he tucks Morty in to what was once another Morty's bed, Rick is excitedly planning a breakfast for two. And when he knows Morty is warm and comfy, he breaths with relief. Morty will be ok.

Rick folds and places a new outfit on the end of Morty's bed. But he stops short of fully closing the door, and gives a concerned glace to the teen from the threshold.

Rick closes the door lightly, and goes back downstairs to read.

* * *

 _/(SCANNING/)_

 _Immediate Vicinity __

 _-No Life Detected_

 _-No Surveillance Detected_

 _-Signals__

 _-Radio/Channel FM_

Once he deems it safe, Morty opens his eyes. The red words his right eye displays remove themselves, and instead morph to depicted what he is seeing.

A ceiling, off-shade white. In a bed. Warm.

He turns his head.

Lamp on an empty desk, unplugged. Room in disuse.

 _/MISSION PHAZE_1/_

 _-SUCESSFUL INFULTRATION__

His own brain could have told him this, he thinks.

It went smoothly. Smoother than it ever has.

* * *

 **Evaluation_**

Investigating the closet proves as fruitless as the rest of the room. Nothing, just a layer of dust. It's strange nothing is left of the last Morty that resided here, aside a few clothes. In fact, Morty had to get over the shock of this Rick ever having a Morty. He calculated the possibility being rather low.

Over the last week of preparing and spying, of scanning the outside for cameras and more, Morty knew one thing about the man that successfully took him in- this Rick is the most secretive, the most isolated Rick he has ever come across. He knows this because he knows very little about him, and how he acts, even after the period of scrutiny. He doesn't leave the house, only to water his garden. This house is empty save for him. No family, no Morty, no parties, not even a mouse. He doesn't have a lab in the garage, so he must have one in more of a hidden and impenetrable place. Portals open infrequently. He reads books till late at night. About what, Morty doesn't know. But he will.

The only solid information he has is that this Rick definitely works and is connected to the Citadel. With that, and the looming feeling that this Rick is hiding things from even them, this Rick could be valuable. Usable.

If not, well, they are all very killable. No matter how much they hate admitting it.

Morty turns from the empty closet, and his eyes land on the clothes neatly and patiently sitting at the edge of the bed.

Light is starting to come through the window, so Morty deems this an appropriate time to put the next phase into action. The tedious, boring part. His right eye captures his train of thought, and red words cover half his vision.

 _/(MISSION PHAZE_2/)_

 _-Evaluation__

 _Eliminate_%30_

 _Usage_%60000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000_

Morty squeezes his eyes shut at the fast steam of zeros. Of cause, he can still see the red quickly filling and messing with his mind. Quick and hard, he hits his right temple with the ball of his palm twice.

 _Usage_%60_

Better.

Morty walks on the balls of his feet to the clothes, not making a sound least Rick get curious. He holds up the T-Shirt. Yellow, short sleeves. He casts a glance at the blue jeans.

He turns the shirt around, inside out, and around again, looking for any sign of a bug. Once he knows it's safe, he breathes a sigh and puts it over his head. The jeans get much the same scrutiny before being put on.

The clothes fit perfect. Perhaps a little tight over his new bandages.

Morty stands at the door, preparing his next move.

The infiltration plan worked, and Rick effectively brought a stranger into his home. A stranger with his grandson's face, but a stranger. That has always been Morty's golden ticket into the homes and lives of Ricks, even if he thinks them so stupid for falling for it every time. They think they know all about him. They think him weak, and useful. Maybe once.

But, he still doesn't know much about this Rick, which makes this smooth infiltration just that much more dangerous from here. He doesn't know how he should act around him yet. He must play along with whatever mood this Rick will set in a heartbeat. How he hates acting.

If things go well, he'll only be here for one week tops, his eye tells him.

He opens the door and is greeted by a cream coloured hallway and blue carpet. Then the smell of a breakfast downstairs. He hears sizzling of oil in a pan, and the sound of soft music from the radio.

Rick is downstairs. Cooking.

Morty stands at the door threshold a little longer, possessing this information. Ricks rarely cook, but it isn't unheard of. Perhaps if this Rick is passionate about cooking he has a large stash of useful knives.

Morty begins his trek down the hall, the smell getting stronger and unfortunately reminding him of how little he has eaten the last few days.

He descends the stairs. The music is louder, coming from the living room at the foot of the stairs. The smells are delicious, floating from the kitchen to his left. He stops at the archway into the kitchen to see him, so close for the first time.

Blue hair, blue sweater, brown pants. He also wears an apron as he stands with his front facing the stove and his back facing Morty. When Morty catches him humming to the tune, Morty raises his eyebrow.

Morty watches patiently as Rick plates whatever he is cooking. Morty observes he's in a good mood. When Rick finally turns around, Morty is greeted with a gasp of surprise.

"Morty, you're up!" Rick says, putting the plate of food on the island counter with a gap-toothed and awkward smile, "You have great timing! Breakfast is almost ready."

He's playing family, Morty thinks. Breakfast and familiarity to someone he's never met. Perhaps he wants to take care of this 'wounded' Morty before he coaches him to repay the favour. The best and most useful shield is one willing. It's an old game, however. He's almost disappointed at how easy this Rick is. He was promising in the beginning. But, Morty knows he can never be too carful around them.

Morty suddenly leans on the frame of the archway, and nurses his scar with his hand. He looks around the kitchen. He feigns confusion, loss.

"Where," He starts, softly, just loud about for Rick to hear, "W-Where am I?"

The sort for reaction is instant, and Rick frowns in sympathy for the 'poor boy'.

God, he hates acting.

"You're in my home, Morty, in demotion J19 ζ7."

"Wha….what happened?" Morty asks. He cringes, and clutches his side all the more.

Rick walks towards him, looking to where Morty clutches himself. Morty doesn't want this strange Rick moving closer, but his eye says the old man's heartbeat is normal. Non-hostile. Rick seems concerned, even, but Morty prides himself on knowing far better.

"You really don't remember anything, Morty? You were….You were stabbed, Morty. Are you hurting badly? I have pain pills, if you need."

Morty shakes his head, looks away and feigns thinking hard, "It's all so, so blurry, I…Rick, d-did you save me?"

"Well, of course I did, Morty," Rick says, and pulls a small pill bottle out of his apron, "Here, for the pain." Morty takes the bottle gratefully, with no intention of using it. He puts it in his pocket.

"T-Thank you," Morty says, "For helping me."

"Aw, jeez Morty, no need to thank me." Rick insists, but he continues, his awkward toothy smile back again, "But maybe you could help _me_ with something!"

Well, Morty thinks, this was moving faster than expected. He's not even healed yet.

Rick dramatically gestures to the island counter of the kitchen, "With finishing all this delicious food!"

Oh.

Morty smiles, and inside he cringes. He makes a pathetic show of walking slowly to the island counter, with Rick close behind, but never out of sight.

Morty sits at the stool, and Rick starts putting the food onto two plates, humming. As he does, Morty checks the food.

 _/(SCANNING/)_

 _-Pork_Salt_

 _-Egg_

 _-Mushroom_

Everything seems normal and ok to eat, he concludes, finishing his scan. The only drugs are in his pocket. He'll need to check them later.

Rick hands him his plate with that smile that's becoming annoying, "Here you go! Specially made."

Morty puts the plate in front of him. The two eggs are at the top of his plate, two bacon slices are on top of each other stretching across the bottom. A small pile of mushroom is in the centre.

A smiley face.

Maybe this wasn't going to be as simple as he thought. The smile doesn't come easy this time.

"T-Thank you, Rick."

Still, no confrontations, no demands, no weapons. Not even a sly remark. Strange, that things are going so smoothly. His eye is calculating the additional information with every second.

* * *

This was going very smoothly, Rick thinks happily. He's a little surprised. He watches the smiling Morty take another bite of his special breakfast.

Morty looks content with the food that smiles back, and comfortable even with the scar. Exactly how Rick had hoped this morning would go. He didn't really know the teen, after all. So far, he seems like a pleasant and grateful young man.

Rick eats his own plate of food. It's nice, sharing a meal, something he made, with other people. He would love for Morty to stay longer, but he knows he must ask, "Morty, where are you from? What dimension?" It mustn't be too nice staying in a stranger's home, even if he does have the face of Morty's grandfather.

Morty pauses his eating, and lowers his fork. He looks to the side, deep in thought. As Morty slowly looks more frustrated, Rick gets a bad feeling.

"I…." Morty begins, "I'm n-not sure. My Rick, um, told me a while ago. It started with a 'T', I think…."

A dimension starting with a 'T' is an infinite amount, Rick thinks in alarm.

Morty lowers his head, suddenly saddened, "I-I'm so sorry Rick, I don't remember."

Rick raises his hands, "No, no it's ok Morty. Everybody forgets dimensions," He tries to reason, even wave off, "I-I mean, my dimension has a Greek letter in it, how is anyone s-supposed to remember that?"

Morty nods slowly, Rick supposes he's agreeing, however reluctantly. But it's true. How could he blame Morty for forgetting a complicated series of numbers and symbols, especially considering he is recovering from such an experience as a stabbing?

"Listen, Morty, it's really ok. I actually work for the Citadel of Ricks." He explains, "Um, do you know what that is?"

"S-Sure," Morty answers, "I've heard of it."

"That's great," Rick says, eager to put a smile back on Morty's face, "Well, they can help you, no problem! I-I mean, I'll need to talk to a few Ricks, but I'm sure I can convince them to get you home safe and sound."

"Oh, wow, Rick," and there it is, a small smile, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it, Morty."

They don't talk much more as they finish their breakfast. The soft rock music plays through the house. Rick hums to the tunes he knows. He catches Morty subtly taking interest in the cabinets and draws of the kitchen, but thinks nothing of it.

This is so nice, he thinks.

* * *

Morty feels full as he sits at the end of the bed, back in the bedroom he awoke in. He had dismissed himself after finishing the breakfast. Rick insisted they watch a fun movie together, and Morty resorted to complaining about pain and fatigue in that stupid stuttering, weak voice. Rick ever so kindly told him not to forget about the pain pills. He needn't worry, Morty thinks.

He rolls the glass pill bottle in his hands over a few times, reading the standard ingredients for standard pain pills. He doesn't believe them as he reads with his naked eyes.

So, his trusted machine displays a thin red glow over his vision. He opens the bottle and carefully extracts a single round, white pill. He focuses on it, so small and harmless in the palm of his hand. He thinks about wanting to know what's in it, what it's made of and what is does.

Telling the machine what to do is the some-what easy part, but it's taken a long time to understand what it tells him. Sometimes he doesn't know if it's really displaying English words. He's prided himself on self-teaching all the smart-ass and encrypted readings and code quickly, something the man that made the very thing told him he was beneath doing for as long as he had known him.

This time, however, he is very stumped.

 _/(SCANNING/)_

 _-Banana_

Very clear and red letters display the very unclear and ridiculous. Morty creases his eyebrows, and commands it again.

 _/(SCANNING/)_

 _-_ _我也爱吃毒品_

Morty grits his teeth, and hits his head two times at the temple, hard.

Finally, the extensive list of long-winded ingredient names fills his mind, along with the outcomes of each and all if they were to enter his system.

It's a standard pain pill, he concludes. Or, his machine does.

But now Morty's concerned. Is it really? Two seconds ago, his eye was convinced this pain pill was a banana.

Morty puts the pill back into the bottle, and then that on the bedside table, unnerved. He decides it doesn't really matter what is in it. His nerve endings don't work all too much anymore.

But his eye has never malfunctioned this much before, especially all in one day. It doesn't give such mistaken readings. A stream of zeros, maybe. But this is serious.

Morty looks around the room- to the desk he had scanned, to the closet. The walls.

Has he missed other things?

His eye notes his heart has accelerated, and he finds that _this_ at least is true. He takes a slow breath.

He doesn't know what's in the pills, and he doesn't know how long his eye has been lying to him. He doesn't know enough about this Rick to act with a thorough plan and course of action.

He thinks hard, trying to avoid the use of his eye for just this once. It proves overwhelming. He doesn't know what to do.

Morty looks at the bedroom door, and wonders if the location of the kitchen knives was a lie as well.

* * *

If you would like to know, the Chinese says "I love to take drugs too". I'm so funny. One year of study has finally paid off.


End file.
